Pride
by The Wandering Swordsman
Summary: Inspired by the recent cover image, but it's a different setting. Sanji is fighting for a war he does want to be in. On an island, where he and his squad are supposed to seize, they met an enemy soldier who still has the will to defend his country. No pairings. WARNING: dark themes, gore, character death, and author has zero knowledge of military stuff.


**Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece.**

**Note: This has dark themes.**

**A/N: Thank you very much StarkBlack for editing the story!**

The sky was thick with clouds of gray and red from consecutive explosions of bombs and artillery. No peace for the ears unless one grew deaf from the rapid cracks of a machine gun or sharp, loud whistles of a jet whizzing by. The earth shook as shell rounds landed heavily onto the bleak island like pouring rain. The taste of metal from blood or machinery, one chose to not fathom. The reek of burnt steel and death lingered in the nose.

Sanji and his squad landed on the Southeastern side of the island with one goal in mind: to seize the island so they could urge the enemy to give up. This island was close to the mainland, so if they took over it could intimidate it. For several weeks, his country attacked on the island, yet the enemy hadn't surrendered. He heard that the Easts were stubborn fools, but he couldn't believe they were this obstinate.

He heard over the cracked radio that a few days ago, nearly several hundred East Blue soldiers were killed in a sudden but unsuccessful raid. Since there was no Intel of them receiving reinforcements and weapons, the battle should have ended soon. Even if his country outnumbered them by a tenfold and were fully equipped with backup, the Easts didn't cry a word of surrender.

Sanji reluctantly marched through the scorched land. He didn't want to be here. There were things he wanted to do at his hometown that didn't require tough schedules and ruthlessly rude sergeants. He was unfortunate to be under command of Sergeant Morgan, infamous for mistreating his soldiers and loved brutality. Sanji was familiar with roughness at a restaurant he used to work at, but it was nothing compared to this. When the war was over, and if he was alive to see it, he would be nicer to the old geezer.

He didn't want to admit, but homesickness swept inside his heart. He wanted to go home. He missed the old geezer. He missed his coworkers Patty and Carne who were stupid but caring. He missed the clean and tidy kitchen he hoped it was left untouched-unless the Special Police confiscated all metal to use for machinery ingredients.

The last letter he received from the old man told him that they did come in to steal-excuse his language-remove the metal cooking counter they installed a few months before Sanji was drafted. But, the old man wrote that he buried Sanji's precious cooking knives somewhere the Special Police would never find it. Tears fell from his eye because that meant the SP took _everything_ except for his cooking knives. The desire to go home and the dread to see what became of the restaurant conflicted with each other and caused upset stomachs and sleepless nights.

He really wanted to go home, but he couldn't. He turned back to his comrades. Some were in his age, a few looked like they were still attending high school. They also carried the same amount of worry and homesickness, but they were still here fighting. Over the long exhausting months under the shitty sergeant, he got along with his squad. They whispered under the candlelight about their hometown and the lives they had before the war. If he was going to go home, he was going to with all of his members of the squad.

A quick movement in the grass disrupted his reverie. Ten or so of his squad swiftly aimed toward the sound and waited. They were ordered to hold fire until the Eastern Soldier came to view. The soldiers should be without weapons, and were either crazed with killing or begging to surrender.

The squad saw a few crazed soldiers on the way here. The enemy soldiers were desperate to inflict injury, so they raised the rifle up to strike anyone with the butt stock. They screamed strange roars that made no sense. One soldier, who could only be compared to a savage, threatened in his native tongue while holding a grenade in his hand. Before the savage reached to where they were, the body fell to the ground in pieces; a thousand bullets pulverized flesh, bone, and muscle. Of course, the grenade went off, so the forearm blasted off the body.

Sanji aimed his gun at the source and took a slow breath. He hoped that it was an ally because the beating of his heart could calm down. The figure stepped out of the dry brush, and his squad stiffened. It was an East Blue soldier, and he was armed.

The man couldn't be described as a soldier, rather a brown moving creature born from the earth. From head to toe, he was covered in filth, dirt, and dried blood. He reeked of these things along with urine and rotted corpses. His uniform was torn and his ribcage stood out more than the skeleton Sanji saw in biology textbooks. Cheeks were hollow and his eyes were sinking into his skull. But, the eyes were glimmering with the flame of a belligerent fighter, not those who want to surrender.

No one fired because the enemy wasn't holding a gun; it was a long sword. Unlike the grimy soldier, the sword blade stood out for it was shining. Smeared remnants of blood were on the blade, proof that the soldier was using it as a weapon. One of his squad snorted a laugh.

"Suppose the guy believes that he could beat us with a mere sword?" The other started to snicker, but Sanji didn't laugh. Although the man staggered in his steps, his eyes were solid and glared with the determination to keep on fighting. The man had confidence that was stronger than any soldier Sanji had seen.

This soldier must not die from a petty bullet.

"He doesn't look like he's going to surrender."

"Can he speak Bluglish?"

Sanji stepped up to Sergeant Morgan before the brute uttered a command.

"I would like to fight him."

Of course, Morgan snarled and twisted his face in irritation, "What?"

Sanji aped a sadistic smirk, "I'll give you a show that's better than the guy we killed earlier."

Easy as pie; the frown flipped into a darkly excited grin. Morgan ordered the rest of the men to lower their guns. Sanji lowered his rifle as well and cautiously approached the enemy.

The man tensed a little, his eyes flashed a look of concern when Sanji dropped the loaded gun as well. Just in case if the soldier went into savage mode, Sanji had a small gun hidden in his uniform. But he knew the man wouldn't turn savage. He didn't know why he was certain of this, but he somehow knew.

Sanji tapped his boot welt on the ground and slowly raised his leg over his head. His squad whistled and cheered in an obnoxious manner, and Sanji grinned. Fighting with his legs was Sanji's specialty. During break times in the camps, men with bottled up testosterone fought in makeshift arenas over seconds of dinner. When Sanji participated, he always won the battles. He wasn't the most powerful in the squad, but he was the quickest. He read his comrade's minds several steps before, and his body could catch up with the same speed. So, the moment the other thought of making a second move, he was already in a surrendering position.

The confused look on the soldier's face was gone. Instead, a look of glee spread across the haggard features. Sanji smiled as well because it had been a long time since he fought without the aid of weapons in the field.

The soldier used the remaining scraps of his uniform to wipe the blood off the sword. When he slowly drew it along the fabric, he gave a quick flick. The sword was glimmering, alike a cut diamond. Sanji's squad stepped back a few steps because the soldier's demeanor intensified with raw power and strength. Sanji swallowed a little since the sword looked sharp. One good swift swipe could mutilate a body part as easily as a hot knife through butter, and the soldier looked capable of doing so.

The soldier moved first, launching toward Sanji in an unbelievable speed. Sanji barely dodged the attack, but it knocked the wind out of his lungs. If he were a millisecond later, his head would be flying off his shoulders. How was the soldier able to produce such speed and precision when he looked like a living skeleton? The soldier let out a dry snarl and launched another attack. This time, Sanji kicked his feet off the ground and got his shin on the enemy's side. The soldier let out a chocked gasp before he crashed a few feet into a thorny brush.

Sanji landed on his feet, but before his squad let out a cheer, the enemy soldier charged at him.

"Shit!" Sanji cursed and managed to block the incoming sword. Their faces were inches apart, and he got a better look of the enemy's face. The shabby headgear was off, and Sanji got distracted for brief moment at the short, green hair, matted heavily with sweat. The man, if he were well fed and cleaned, looked young. Maybe they were around the same age. The soldier's gaunt body brought pain spiraling down Sanji's stomach. This man still had vigor, much so than Sanji, even though Sanji was clearly at an advantage.

Sanji's squad chanted disgusting words of hate and murder, and he tuned him out by listening to the explosion of bombs in the distance. He also focused his ears on the soldier's breaths. They were coming out short and even, similar to his. Did this man participate in this war on his own or against his will? Was he the same situation?

The soldier raised his knee and kicked Sanji in the abdomen. Sanji recoiled and involuntarily bent his body, and the man kicked again. This time the foot latched onto his hip, and the soldier spun his leg around. Sanji was lifted into the air and-Sanji's disbelief-was slammed hard onto the ground. He cut his inner cheek, so he spat a wad of blood to the side.

The soldier chuckled between pants and said something in a foreign tongue. Sanji guessed he said 'payback.' The devilish smirk was glorious that Sanji naturally smirked back. Adrenaline pumped through their veins and sang with euphoria. The man was a good fighter, and apparently the enemy approved of his too. The soldier waited for Sanji to get up; the man had proper fighting manners. He raised his leg in a defense position, and the battle resumed.

They fought for several minutes, completely engrossed in the brawl. They forgot that they were enemies of war and losing meant a cost of one's life. They attacked playfully as if it were a game. Sometimes, the enemy swordsman taunted him by sticking out his tongue and beckoning him over with hand gestures. Sanji would've done the same if he had a cigarette. Morgan's squad screamed and cheered for Sanji-occasionally for the enemy swordsman-while Morgan had his arms crossed and looked tense with agitation.

Finally-and too sudden-the East Blue soldier collapsed to the ground. Sanji didn't strike him, so that meant the soldier either ran out of stamina and the adrenaline was diminished. Realization kicked in, and Sanji's energy drained as well. He won, that meant he had to kill him.

The squad cheered the loudest, and Morgan unfolded his arms, "Good! Now kill him!"

Sanji's shoulders flinched, and goose bumps prickled his skin. His hand pulled out the gun on instinct and slowly walked to the fallen man. He could hear the soldier's short pants, it was loud and sounded painful. When he looked down, the soldier opened his eyes to look straight into his face.

To Sanji's absolute shock, the swordsman's lips formed a gentle smile.

"_Arigatou_," The swordsman whispered for he had no strength to speak anymore, "_Tanoshikatta_."

Tears poured from Sanji's eyes because he recognized one of the words: "arigatou" was "thank you" in the East Blues language. The man thanked him for allowing him to forget that they were enemies.

"I…I want to thank you too." Sanji's voice trembled as he tried not to sob. He tapped his palm on his chest, "Sanji." He tapped his hand and said his name a few more times, and the man finally understood that Sanji was trying to introduce himself.

The soldier tapped his nose, "Zoro."

Sanji raised his pistol to aim at Zoro's forehead, hoping that it would kill him instantly. "You were a great fighter, but I feel that this wasn't a fair game. I didn't win this battle, nor did you lose. I wish for another round…I-I'm a cook, you see. I'll learn to cook the foods you East Blues eat, so you can eat and gain your strength. S-So, please, surrender. Please." The swordsman held the sword tightly in his hand. If he let that go and raised his arms, the man could live.

Zoro stared up at Sanji as if he just woke up from a blissful sleep. He sighed, closed his eyes, and shook his head.

Sanji felt like he was going to die first; his heart shattered into a million shards. The soldier was stubborn like all of the East Blue soldiers, but his was serene. Was this pride the man had, or he accepted his defeat and was ready to die? Sanji wanted to call the man stupid, but the man wouldn't understand and it wasn't right. Sanji's hand shook in short quivers, and he couldn't steady it. He didn't want to kill Zoro.

"What the hell are you doing?" Morgan shouted, "I said shoot him!" Since Sanji didn't respond, the sergeant's face turned bright red and pointed his pistol at Sanji, "Are you disobeying my orders!? Shoot him or I'll shoot you first!" The rest of the squad fell silent, but their demeanor burned under the tense atmosphere. They glared at Morgan from behind, but they could only stand and press their lips firmly together.

Sanji tensed at the brutal command. He didn't want to die, but he didn't want to kill this man whom he knew they could become good friends. "Z-Zoro, I-I have to kill you, "Sanji said slowly," But tonight I will wish to the stars that somewhere in a different time, in a different place, we can meet again. If that ever happens, I wish to fight you again in a fair battle."

Of course, Zoro didn't understand a single word he said other than his name, yet the soldier gave a short nod. The strained, exhausted features vanished, and he looked like he was in a peaceful slumber. Sanji lowered his aim to Zoro's heart because he couldn't bear to destroy the man's gaunt yet attractive face. Sanji took a deep breath to steady himself and to quiet the nausea building up inside.

"Goodbye Zoro."

A heavy sound of a bullet thundered through the sky, blemished from the war.

**The End**


End file.
